


Siren

by Teharissa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Gen, Golden Age of Piracy, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Mermaid China, Not necessarily about pirates though, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 16:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teharissa/pseuds/Teharissa
Summary: The last conversation with a close friend foreshadows exactly what will happen to Arthur Kirkland if he so chooses to step on that god forsaken boat to the New World, and leave Europe behind. And yet, without sparing any real thought to what would eventually become reality, Arthur leaves anyway. It was only expected that he'd find himself fallen into a love that will kill him. It's only expected that he'd be okay with it, too.
Relationships: China/England (Hetalia), England & France (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Siren

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Hetalia.

Strange, how the last thing Arthur remembered with clarity was a single conversation. It was vivid, far more vivid than any of the other truths Arthur claimed to know. He could recall any aspect of the room if asked--from the comfortable loveseat positioned in front of the steady fire, to the chandelier situated above both their heads. Francis always had loved decor, and his home reflected that in its beauty. It felt warm. Safe.

Don’t go. Those were the words mouthed by Francis, in that moment. Strange, once again. Arthur would ponder the look on his face later, a look that should never have decorated his features. It was that of mourning. And more so, it was distinctly uncharacteristic for him. Francis had always been a man of flirtation, unfaithful, a man of many words, and even more meanings. He was coy when he shouldn’t be, teasing at his worst, and Arthur had never seen him so somber.

“Why not?” Arthur had asked, “Don’t tell me you’ve already begun to miss me, frog.”

At the time, the words felt appropriate. They belonged to their usual banter, a battle of wits that never drew the line for a clearly defined winner.

Francis hadn’t risen to the bait. He still held a glass of wine, poised elegantly within the gentle hold of his hand. Francis always had wine. At least that much hadn’t changed. He stared, downtrodden, at the floor beneath him.

“I do not think you should go, mon ami.”

Arthur hadn’t understood, at the time. This was the New World--and Arthur’s one chance to truly see it. Francis knew how much he needed this. He always had known, ever since they were children, and Arthur would tell tales of grand adventure. And now, he could finally find himself. Paris had never been his home, not the way it was Francis’s, and London grew stifling the longer he remained there. What he needed--it was this.

Arthur would look back and say that it was more than that. Something had been calling for him. He just hadn’t known it yet.

But at the time, he found himself confused at Francis. This opportunity would never present itself to him again, Arthur knew all too well, and he said as much. “I have to go,” he added, hoping Francis would understand.

Francis did nod, at least, looking at his wine in thought. When he spoke, he still didn’t look at Arthur.

“I know. And I wish you the best of luck--you know I do.” Francis heaved a sigh and set his glass down. He seemed to be steeling himself, but eventually, he met Arthur’s expression head-on, mouth set in a thin line. “But if you leave now, I have this terrible feeling that you will never return.”

Arthur, at the time, had scoffed. Had played off the words as if they meant nothing, wasted words in lieu of a proper farewell. He tipped his hat, and bid his own goodbye to Francis--leaving him watching with sad eyes as the door to the house closed, and Francis watching his back with something akin to grief.

* * *

Someone had once asked Arthur if he believed. The question extended no further, despite Arthur’s inquiries to what exactly he was being asked to believe in. So Arthur filled it in within the cracks of his mind.

Did he believe in hatred? Did he believe in the endless stretch of the sea and the world? Did he believe in the fae, in dragons, in creatures of darkness and light? Did he believe in fortune? Did he believe in things that he could not see? Did he believe in God’s grace?

Young Arthur answered all of these in turns. And to each, he found himself saying yes. To all those things, Arthur found himself faithful. To all those things, he found himself believing. No matter how he grew, Arthur believed in it all.

If there was one thing he’d never thought he’d believe in, one thing he never thought truly struck any of those around him, a thought that was one of folly and the desperate need to believe in, it was that of love.

Who could believe in something as ridiculous as love? Arthur had laughed at it. Even through Francis’s detailed explanations of how his heart would flutter at the sight of whichever woman he’d laid his eyes on at the time, even as Alfred fancied himself entranced by a young foreign maiden, Arthur failed to believe. He knew love didn’t exist.

Or at least, so he had thought.

It was months after that fateful conversation with Francis, the last night he’d seen his best friend. Months that had left him worse for wear, hair wet with that of salt water, and his clothes looser than the suit he’d left in. Months in and yet he still recalled that conversation, briefly, if only to recognize the truth in it. He never would return. He couldn’t--not now. Not when his mind played such treacherous tricks of nonexistent feelings on himself.

He never thought his heart would tug so ferociously--not tug, tug was too light a word, _soar, fly, break, come alive and then split in half right down his chest_. He’d never thought his skin would dance with pure desperation, a need to touch and be touched, that his body would sing and his mind would please, and that he’d be unable to take his eyes off it.

When had he let himself become a victim of his own complete and utter scorn?

When had he fallen in love?

It was beautiful, really. A creature with hair of ink, flowing freely down its shoulders and back, and slipping to float in the water around it. A creature of pale, unblemished porcelain skin, and smoldering, sacred eyes, eyes that saw so much more. Despite Arthur knowing his crew was at the bar just up from the docks, Arthur found himself too distracted by such a creature to care to join them--too in love to even consider moving.

Even now, the creature’s song slipped from it. It wasn’t the terrible thing the legends made it out to be. For one, the creature was beautiful even as it sang, and it’s mouth never opened, and no sound left its throat. Yet still, Arthur couldn’t imagine a more beautiful song.

“Do you really want it?” the creature asked, his voice merely a whisper. The song didn’t waver, not even as a physical sound left the creature’s throat. Even his voice was enthralling--delicate. Arthur held his hands within his own, letting his warmth seep into the cold of the creature’s skin.

“More than anything,” Arthur whispered, back. His voice felt husky as he spoke, and the creature nodded.

Their lips met, slowly. It was a gentle meeting, tender, an expression of everything love could be. Was love a drug? Arthur felt it must be, the way it clung to him in this moment, and let them meet. Soft. His lips were so soft, Arthur thought, and oh so sweet. Even with the sting of saltwater meeting his chapped lips, it was too tender a kiss to ever break.

The creature’s hands moved to either side of Arthur’s face, sweeping his thumb to caress it, and he pulled, gently leading Arthur towards the water. They both knew what was to come. Arthur didn’t fight, didn’t even bother to let out a sound of protest. He hadn’t lied--he wanted this. He wanted it as much as his body wanted air. He wanted it so desperately, that he allowed himself to be submerged, to let the creature to pull him into the darkness of the water.

Neither broke the kiss. Neither thought to, nor did they want to. It was cold, it was uncomfortable, but Arthur found that he couldn’t even acknowledge such discomforts, too entranced by the lips that seemed to have grown teeth. Yet still each movement was slow and sweeping, ever so gentle. The creature slipped his tongue in Arthur’s mouth and Arthur let it.

The creature was beautiful, even more so, underneath the surface. His tail glimmered lightly, even within the night and darkness of the water, a deep red that Arthur had never seen on another living being before. The tail curled around them both, not touching, yet still long enough to circle them in a possessive manner. And despite the pain in Arthur’s eyes, the sting at the salt, yet still he forced himself to look, to keep his eyes open as his mouth grew more desperate within the kiss.

The creature responded just as ravenously. They let themselves intertwine, their mouths to seek more of each other, and of each other’s taste.

_Are you sure you want this?_

The words were just like the song--not spoken, yet still, they echoed around the water, a mystical sound. It was so obviously there, and yet not physically present. Like the singing that never stopped, that always came from the creature. Underwater, the sounds became one, a resounding of notes and harmonies that stripped Arthur of any remote desire he might have had to toss this away.

And so he responded in kind.

_Yes._

His lungs burned, burned for air and for life and for revitalization, but Arthur let this creature take him. He let this creature take him in body, in mind, in soul and heart, in death and life. All he could offer for his love was himself, and he did so gladly. He would let him have it all. The creature seemed to take it as a sign, and he increased in fervor as they kissed him, letting their bodies and minds become one. Letting them hold onto each other, even as Arthur slipped.

Even as Arthur slipped into the disquiet of unconsciousness, as his movements became limp, and soulless, even as the creature’s song became that of a wail, something of emotion indistinguishable.

* * *

__

_“Nothing of human nature can match that of which is a mermaid; not in mystery, nor allure, nor song. They are of the simplest of man’s desires, a creature made of beauty, a creature that will forever be the forbidden fruit of all of mankind. For one who chooses to take a bite, they have chosen to remove their heart from the confines of their chest and freely, let the creature drive its teeth into the bloody heart, still beating, in return.” _-Matthias Køhler, unpublished essay (named: _Eyes of Sea_) found two days after Køhler’s disappearance. Cause of disappearance is unknown, but reports of the era suspect drowning, as the body was never discovered. 

__

**Author's Note:**

> Yay rarepairs! Also yay, my crappy writing!!! I hope you enjoyed this piece of trash I made, I tried really hard (I didn't don't indulge me) and this is clearly the best of my abilities (liar) so uh...yeah...
> 
> God this note is a mess, but it's short, so please just ignore it!!!


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